


Unsuffer Me

by enigmaticblue



Series: Between the Shadow and the Soul [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 17:12:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1518647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set between BtVS S2 and S3. A chance meeting leads to an unexpected connection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unsuffer Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Livejournal community, seven_seasons, where the first line is given to you, and after that you’re on your own.

_“…Come into my world/of loneliness/and wickedness/and bitterness/Unlock my love/Unsuffer me/Take away the pain/Unbruise, unbloody/Wash away the stain/Anoint my head/With your sweet kiss/My joy is dead/I long for bliss/I long for knowledge/Whisper in my ear/Undo my logic, undo my fear/Unsuffer me.” ~Lucinda Williams, “Unsuffer Me”_

 

**Part I: Kismet**

 

If there was one thing she knew, it was that Spike couldn’t be trusted. That didn’t explain why she was about to invite him inside her tiny apartment.

 

Or maybe it did. Maybe she had a death wish, and this was a way of ending the pain without having to do it herself. God knew that she’d contemplated suicide a hundred times over the last few months; she just couldn’t bring herself to do it.

 

Standing on the other side of the invisible barrier, she stared at his familiar face, wondering what was going through his head, if Spike thought this situation as strange as she did.

 

“Come in, Spike.”

 

It was that easy.

 

**One Week Earlier**

 

Spike had been doing everything he could to forget Drusilla, and he hadn’t been succeeding. She had blamed him for taking away her “daddy” and had claimed that the Slayer was floating about his head. She’d even made a couple of attempts on his life. He could have dealt with that, but then Drusilla had shacked up with a fungus demon; that’s where he’d drawn the line.

 

He had no idea how he’d wound up in Los Angeles, but it was a big city and easy to find distractions. Spike had taken to doing his hunting more carefully than usual, choosing targets that would present more of a challenge. He picked fights, and he drank as much as he could afford—or steal, which was often his chosen method of procuring alcohol.

 

For the first time in over a hundred years, however, Spike felt as though he was just existing; without Drusilla next to him, life had lost its shine.

 

Hands in his pockets, wandering down a particularly seedy street, Spike paused next to a diner window. A flash of dark hair caught his attention, and for a moment, he thought he saw Drusilla. It was ridiculous, of course. Dru was still in Brazil, living it up with whatever demon was doing it for her this week.

 

The moment he paused, however, Spike saw the last person he expected to see in L.A. Buffy stood next to a table, order pad in one hand, pen in another, and dressed in a red and white gingham dress.

 

“What have we here?” Spike murmured.

 

She moved from one table to the next, ignoring the proposition that one of the customers gave her as she passed. For a moment, Spike contemplated going inside but stopped at the last moment. Whatever might have happened, it wasn’t any of his business. Their truce had ended when he’d left Sunnydale with Dru. That had been the deal.

 

But that didn’t explain why he was still thinking of her when he woke up the next evening.

 

~~~~~

 

Buffy sometimes caught sight of him—always out of the corner of her eye, always a fleeting glimpse, and she was always proven wrong when she turned to get a good look. It seemed that every tall, dark-haired man would resemble Angel, and it was driving her crazy. All she’d wanted was to leave that part of her life behind, to become someone else.

 

The past always followed you, though; she should have figured that out by now.

 

It was one of the reasons she’d been so thrown by the glimpse of another man entirely, the shock of white-blond hair appearing on the other side of the diner window. She’d had customers to tend to, however, and by the time she’d had time to get a good look, he was gone.

 

If he’d been there in the first place. It was hard to say these days.

 

Buffy finished her shift with a sigh of relief, trudging home on sore feet. She snorted as the thought crossed her mind. The tiny studio apartment was hardly “home,” but it was better than the streets. Even a Slayer would have a hard time surviving with no shelter, and no income.

 

The job sucked, but Buffy knew she’d been lucky to get it. Turnover was pretty high, and the owner had been desperate for help—desperate enough not to care about her references, or to check her age.

 

Entering the dingy apartment, Buffy dropped her purse on the floor next to the door before checking to be sure the flimsy lock had clicked. She gave some thought to dinner but quickly decided that she was too tired to eat.

 

Stripping off the clothes she’d changed into after work, she collapsed on the lumpy mattress and squeezed her eyes shut. When she had her eyes closed, she didn’t have to contemplate her surroundings.

 

As usual, she dropped into a restless sleep immediately and right into her recurring nightmare. It was always the same—standing in front of Angel, watching Acathla opening behind him, knowing that she had no choice but to plunge the sword into his chest.

 

Over and over again, she heard his shocked whisper, “Buffy.”

 

Over and over again, Buffy whispered, “I’m sorry” to the empty place where he had been.

 

Tonight, however, it was different. She still plunged the sword into Angel’s chest, Angel still disappeared into the hell dimension, but this time she heard a half-familiar voice behind her. “He’s not coming back.”

 

“I know that.” It was like they were picking up an old conversation, one that had never happened. “He’s gone.”

 

“I know the feeling.”

 

Buffy turned to face him. Spike’s face was carefully blank, but she thought she saw pain in his blue eyes.

 

Had his eyes always been that blue? Or was this her imagination playing tricks on her?

 

“How would you know?” she demanded.

 

But he was gone, and Buffy was suddenly awake, staring into the darkness. “What the hell?” she muttered.

 

Buffy hadn’t given Spike another thought since leaving Sunnydale; she’d been too busy missing Angel to think of much else. Why he would enter her usual nightmare was beyond her, but it felt a little like a Slayer dream.

 

Rising, Buffy got a glass of water and went to the window, looking out onto the poorly lit street, hearing the call of police sirens in the distance. It was probably nothing; she had caught a glimpse of someone who bore a passing resemblance to Spike, and her subconscious had done the rest.

 

He _had_ been there at the end, after all. Buffy knew that she probably owed him her life, even if the very idea pissed her off.

 

Shrugging off the memories, she went back to bed, hoping that this time she would sleep dreamlessly.

 

~~~~~

 

She was haunting him; that was the only explanation that Spike could come up with. The chit was the sodding _Slayer_ and all he could think about was her. He wanted to know what had happened to Angel, and why she was in Los Angeles working in that shitty diner.

 

The thought occurred to him that if Angel was dead—and if he killed Buffy—Drusilla would have to take him back. With the Slayer dead, his dark princess certainly couldn’t claim that she was “floating about his head” or that sort of rot.

 

He loitered outside the diner, keeping an eye out for Buffy, not wanting to be seen. Spike had no idea if she was still acting as the Slayer, but he wasn’t going to push his luck.

 

It would be better to take her by surprise; Spike didn’t think she’d seen him the previous night.

 

Waiting didn’t come naturally to him, but Spike stuck it out, his curiosity keeping him there long after he normally would have left. He finally caught sight of her moving through the diner. She looked much the same as she had the previous night, but now he could see clearly that she’d lost much of the fire that had first attracted him.

 

Maybe Buffy was the Slayer, but that didn’t mean Spike was blind. He could see the attraction; he just wasn’t stupid enough to fall in love, unlike Angel. Give him half a chance, and he’d shag her and drain her dry, though.

 

She looked up from the table she was waiting on and met his eyes through the glass. He could see that she recognized him, but her face remained expressionless.

 

Spike frowned as she went back to taking orders. Her apparent disregard made up his mind for him, and he strode through the front door, ignoring the jangle of the bell overhead.

 

Finding an empty booth, he slid in, drumming his fingers on the table and making a great show of impatience. After a couple of minutes, he called out, “Hey! Can I get some service over here?”

 

After a few moments, Buffy showed up with her order pad ready, her nametag reading “Anne.” “What can I get for you?”

 

Spike raised his eyebrows. “What? You’re not even going to say hi?”

 

“Shut up,” she hissed. “Look, you don’t make trouble, and I don’t stake you, okay? I need this job.”

 

There was a heavy silence as Spike considered her request. A part of him wanted to make trouble for her, to make her as miserable as he felt, to ruin her life as she’d ruined his. But there was another part of him that saw how vulnerable she was, that knew she would be in his debt if he did nothing of the sort. He could order and leave her a good tip, and then she would owe him in a sense.

 

Spike liked the idea of the Slayer owing _him_.

 

“Cup of coffee,” he said. “And a burger. Rare as you can make it.”

 

There was a flicker of some unnamed emotion in her eyes, but she wrote down his order after a pause. “The coffee will be right out.”

 

Spike was slightly disappointed that he hadn’t received more of a reaction, but he shrugged and leaned back, striking a relaxed pose. The coffee was out within a couple of minutes, just as she’d promised, although it was about the worst he’d had.

 

After that, he watched her as she bustled around the diner, watched as one customer got a little too friendly, and she did no more than flinch and move on. When she came back around to the same table again, the rough-looking man sitting there grabbed her wrist. “Come on, baby,” he encouraged. “What you need to do is loosen up.”

 

Spike could see the battle in her eyes—shove her fist through his face or smile politely and gently pull free. He rose from the table and sauntered over.

 

“Where’s my burger?” he asked gruffly, ignoring the man holding her wrist.

 

She gave him a tight, insincere smile. “It’s coming.” Buffy gave a sharp tug and pulled free. “I’ll just go check.”

 

Spike watched her go, then leaned down to put his face close to the other man’s. “Let me explain something,” he said in a low, menacing tone. “She’s mine.”

 

The man sneered. “Is that right? I don’t see your name on her.”

 

Spike flashed a little fang. “I don’t think you want to argue with me.”

 

The man was gone by the time he sat back down, and Spike grinned, well satisfied with himself. He was a bit surprised when Buffy sat his burger down in front of him with a force that suggested she’d nearly cracked the plate. “What the hell did you do?”

 

He shrugged. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“I saw you talking to him.” There was fire in her eyes now, and Spike found that he liked it. “Whatever you said or did, he left without paying, and that comes out of my tips.”

 

“I didn’t do anything. Not my fault if the wanker did a runner on you.”

 

They engaged in a staring contest that Spike won when Buffy looked away. “Forget it,” she said wearily. “Just forget it. Finish your burger and get out of here, Spike.”

 

He frowned as she walked away. This wouldn’t do at all. At this rate, she’d probably just stand there and let him drain her dry, which had no appeal. He liked his Slayers with a quick tongue and quicker fists. It was no fun if they were easy prey, and Buffy had never been easy.

 

She’d been the most challenging Slayer he’d faced, in fact.

 

Spike decided that he didn’t want the burger. He was more interested in finding something uncooked. He hesitated, wondering if not paying for his meal would cause her to be angry enough to fight him.

 

Of course, that’s what she’d be expecting.

 

~~~~~

 

When Buffy looked up from the register, where she was cashing out the most recent order, Spike was gone, and she groaned. She should have known that he would leave without paying. Great, just great. There went her night’s pay, which meant that she wouldn’t be eating.

 

Swallowing tears, Buffy went to clear the table, but when she lifted the plate with the untouched burger, she found two twenties. The money more than covered his meal, and the meal of the man he’d run off, with a bigger tip than she’d ever seen at the diner.

 

“What the hell?” she muttered, intrigued in spite of herself.

 

All Buffy could think is that the end of the world must be right around the corner, because Spike had actually done something nice for her.

 

She finished out her shift with the sense of having missed something. Buffy knew that the world had gone topsy-turvy with Angel’s death, but she didn’t think that had extended to soulless vampires showing up and leaving her twenty dollar tips.

 

Buffy was still pondering her strange evening during her walk home when she felt the unmistakable presence of a vampire close by. The diner wasn’t in the best neighborhood, nor was her apartment. She supposed she wasn’t surprised that she was being followed, only that it hadn’t happened until now.

 

She stopped in her tracks. “You really don’t want to do that.”

 

“And why not?”

 

The lone vampire emerged from the shadows, dirty and unkempt, nothing like Spike’s sleek punk look. And where had _that_ thought come from? Buffy focused on the creature in front of her.

 

“Because I’m tired, and I’m not in the mood,” she snapped. “So either go away or get dusty.”

 

The vampire sneered. “Is that right?” He took a step closer. “I want you to scream for me. You taste better when you scream.”

 

“Oh my God.” Buffy looked at him incredulously. “Are you serious?” She raised her eyes to the sky. “Why do I even bother?”

 

The vampire appeared nonplussed by her refusal to show fear, and by her disgust at his lame, horror movie line. “Huh?”

 

“It’s not even worth it,” she muttered. Her stake appeared in her hand with an ease that surprised both her and the vampire advancing on her, and she plunged it through his heart with a sense of satisfaction she hadn’t felt in months.

 

Buffy tucked the stake away as the vampire crumbled to dust that scattered on the slight breeze. “That was pathetic,” she informed the remains. “Really pathetic.”

 

She paused as she resumed the walk back to her building. Buffy could have sworn that she felt the presence of another vampire, but it had been a long time since she’d “honed,” as Giles had once instructed her to do. It was possible that she was mistaken, since the feeling was weak.

 

With a shrug, she headed back to her apartment and the Ramen noodles waiting for her. Spike’s tip had given her enough money to afford a decent meal, but there wasn’t anyplace open at this time of night that she cared to visit. Tomorrow was her day off; she could take the bus and go to the grocery store.

 

It wasn’t like she got an employee discount at the diner, and the food there wasn’t good enough to warrant her spending the money on it.

 

Buffy didn’t allow herself to think beyond “tomorrow.” She didn’t think about the change in seasons, or the fact that school had started last week. She couldn’t let herself think about her mom or her Watcher or her friends, and what they might think about her absence.

 

Because if she thought about any of that, Buffy knew that she’d freeze, unable to move forward. It was just too overwhelming.

 

~~~~~

 

Spike watched as she disappeared inside her apartment. He knew where she lived now, although she’d have to invite him in, and there was little hope of that.

 

He’d thought perhaps she’d sensed him at one point, just after she’d killed the vampire, but the Slayer had continued on her way, and he had to assume that she didn’t know he was not far behind.

 

Spike knew that he was watching her, much as he’d done in Sunnydale—studying her moves, learning her weaknesses. At this point, however, he didn’t plan on killing her. Not right away. Not until she was ready.

 

He’d been gratified to see that she still had a few moves, and that she hadn’t completely given up.

 

A plan was beginning to form. Spike liked the idea of her being in his debt, and he wanted to see how long this game could go on before the inevitable fight to the death. How many buttons could he push before she tried to stake him—before she dropped the pretense of “Anne” and once again was the Slayer?

 

Spike had no idea, but he had nothing better to do, and he really wanted to find out.

 

**Part II: Dancing**

 

Buffy had known for a while that there was probably something really wrong with her. After all, here she was in L.A., far from friends and family, not having let any of them know where she was, or even if she was alive. She was a Slayer who wasn’t performing her sacred duty, walking through her days like a sleepwalker, and dreaming of her dead vampire boyfriend every night.

 

The boyfriend she’d sent to hell on the end of her sword.

 

If that wasn’t bad enough, she was beginning to feel an actual spark of pleasure every time she saw Spike, the first real pleasure she’d felt since she’d killed Angel.

 

She was definitely certifiable.

 

Spike had come in every evening she’d worked for the past five days, always ordering coffee, always leaving more than enough money to cover his bill. They didn’t say much to one another, but she knew he watched her, and she knew he looked dangerous.

 

Buffy also knew that she hadn’t received any inappropriate propositions while he’d been around, and for that alone she probably would have been grateful.

 

It galled her, too. To be pleased to see Spike, to be grateful for his presence, it went against the grain.

 

She got the feeling that tonight was different. Spike’s expression was anticipatory, as though he was waiting for something. Buffy decided not to give him the satisfaction of inquiring—that would mean revealing how closely she watched him.

 

And there was no way she was going to do that.

 

Buffy finished out her shift the way she always did, clearing off tables and counting up receipts. Her tips had been really good for once, thanks to Spike and a couple of regulars who had been feeling extra generous. It meant that she might be able to afford a few of the things that had become luxuries—like a slice of pizza and a soda at the mall.

 

On her way home, Buffy knew that she was being followed, and she stayed alert for trouble, not wanting to deal with it unless absolutely necessary. If it was a vampire, she’d be safe once inside her apartment.

 

She was inside her apartment when a voice called out to her. “Summers.”

 

“What do you want, Spike?”

 

He took his time walking down the hallway until he was standing in front of her. Even though the wall separating them couldn’t be seen, Buffy knew it was very real. “You going to invite me inside?”

 

~~~~~

 

“Come in, Spike.”

 

He hadn’t expected her to invite him inside. Spike had, in fact, assumed that she would shut the door in his face. Wavering on the threshold, he considered walking away and abandoning his plan.

 

This felt too big, too important, and it shouldn’t have. It shouldn’t have mattered at all.

 

They stared at each other, and he watched the emotions flash across her face; he had been studying her for months now, if you counted the time spent in Sunnydale, but he couldn’t read her now. He had no idea what she was thinking, what she wanted.

 

But he knew that to not step inside would be an act of cowardice, and he was no coward.

 

Once he was inside, Buffy shut the door behind him, and they faced each other once again.

 

“What do you want?”

 

Spike realized that he didn’t know, but that wasn’t an answer. “Thought I’d find out what happened.” It was mostly true; he did want to know what had happened.

 

“What do you think?” she demanded, although she sounded more weary than upset. “Angel opened Acathla, and I killed him to prevent the world from getting sucked into hell.”

 

He shrugged. “Figured, but I didn’t want to assume.”

 

“Well, now you know. Why aren’t you with your girlfriend?”

 

“She left me.” He didn’t want to go into details. It wouldn’t do to give her the satisfaction of knowing that Dru had abandoned him because of Buffy. “Cheated on me with a sodding fungus demon.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Their eyes met, and Spike found that he didn’t know what he wanted to say; he didn’t even know what he wanted anymore. “Yeah, well…” He trailed off, at a loss for words. Rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, Spike stared at the toes of his boots, angry that she’d put him in this position, angry at the entire world.

 

He looked up, eyes blazing. “Sod this,” he growled.

 

Spike was fairly certain that his attack came as something of a surprise, not least because he was waging war with his tongue and lips, rather than fists and feet. Buffy froze for the second it took him to shove his tongue in her mouth roughly.

 

In the next moment, he found himself flat on the floor, Buffy standing over him, her eyes glittering with rage. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

 

“What? Have you forgotten what kissing is like? Or maybe you just never got a taste of a real man.”

 

“Bastard.” The word came out in an explosive breath, and she flew at him, one fist catching him across a cheekbone before Spike could fend her off.

 

There wasn’t a lot of room, and so their impromptu wrestling match was confined to a small area. Spike managed to return the favor, hitting her with a force that was sure to leave a bruise across her jawline.

 

He wasn’t sure whether to be surprised or disappointed when he wound up on top, Buffy’s arms trapped between their bodies. “Get off.”

 

Her eyes were still blazing, and she looked truly alive for the first time since he’d run into her again. Hell, _he_ felt alive for the first time since she’d dropped that bloody organ on him. Buffy’s cheeks were flushed, her chest heaving as she fought for air against the weight of his body on top of hers, and Spike realized that he was growing hard.

 

Buffy must have realized it too, because her eyes grew wide, just before Spike pressed his lips to hers again.

 

~~~~~

 

His lips were cold, as Angel’s had been. Buffy had been kissed by human guys before, of course. There had been Pike in L.A., before she’d ever heard of the Hellmouth, and there had been another whose name she’d forgotten.

 

Strange to think that she’d kissed—or been kissed by—as many vampires as humans. What did that say about her?

 

Not that she’d invited Spike’s kiss, but Buffy realized that there was a part of her that was enjoying it. Trapped beneath him, she probably could have fought her way free. Even as she parted her lips, inviting Spike to deepen the kiss, she thought of how she could end it. She could probably get a leg free to knee him in the groin, or she could bite his tongue. He was loosening his grip on her hands, and she could probably shove him off, poke him in the eye…

 

The list went on, long enough so that she knew the longer he remained on top of her, the longer she allowed this to go on, the harder it would be to convince herself later that she hadn’t wanted it.

 

However it had started, Buffy knew that she felt good; she felt alive for the first time in months.

 

Spike released her hands, and Buffy took the opportunity to flip them so that their positions were reversed. She straddled his hips and reached for the stake she knew was tucked away at the small of her back.

 

She saw the surprise on his face just before it was replaced with resignation. “Go on, then,” he said as she rested the point of the stake just above his heart, against the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

 

It would be so easy, she thought. Buffy knew she could do her duty and kill him, that she should. She could see the same death wish in his eyes that was likely in hers, and Buffy knew that she’d already fucked up. She’d already betrayed her sacred duty by running away from the Hellmouth—and before that by sleeping with a vampire. What was one more sin to add to the list?

 

The stake clattered to the floor, and Buffy pushed Spike’s shoulders to the floor, holding him there as she kissed him again, biting his lower lip.

 

His growl shook her to her core, and she shuddered with need.

 

This encounter was far different from the one with Angel. He had been gentle, tentative, passionate. She had been uncertain and scared.

 

Spike was rough, his hands and fingers digging in, leaving bruises behind. Buffy matched his ferocity with her own, however, taking out months of grief and loneliness on the vampire she hated and should not trust—and yet somehow did.

 

This was not lovemaking—this was fucking at its finest. Buffy had had no idea how intimately pain and pleasure could be intertwined.

 

She was a little surprised when Spike made sure she came after he had. Buffy had half-expected him to roll off and walk out when he was done with his pleasure.

 

Instead, they both lay there. She was panting, he was still as stone. Buffy stayed silent, wondering if he would say something about her experience—or lack thereof. She expected him to be cruel, as Angel had been after he’d lost his soul.

 

Spike was silent, however, until he remarked, “This place is a shit hole, Slayer.”

 

Buffy felt oddly relieved. “But it’s cheap.”

 

“Yeah. Reckon you don’t make much at that diner.”

 

“More recently.”

 

“Don’t. Just don’t say it.”

 

“Say what?”

 

“Dunno. Whatever you were going to say.”

 

Buffy finally felt as though she had her breath back. “I’m going to get cleaned up,” she announced.

 

“Suit yourself. Mind if I smoke?”

 

She hesitated, wondering if she did or not, wondering if she should. “Just do it by the window, okay?”

 

Buffy didn’t wait for his agreement, instead heading to the tiny bathroom, no bigger than a closet. At least it had a bathroom; she’d seen apartments where she would have had to share with the floor.

 

She took her time in the bathroom, washing away all traces of Spike, knowing full well that water wouldn’t change the truth of what she’d done.

 

But when she came out of the bathroom, fully prepared to kick Spike out if he was still there, Buffy found herself strangely disappointed that he was already gone.

 

**Part III: Allies**

 

Spike didn’t have any choice but to walk away and stay away. As he’d sat on Buffy’s windowsill, smoking his fag, he realized that the Slayer was all too close to getting under his skin. There had been something in her eyes as she’d ridden him hard that had forged a connection.

 

And it was up to him to break it.

 

He lasted 72 hours. By that time, Spike had convinced himself that he could keep his distance, and that if he played his cards right, she’d never know he was there. He watched her through the window from across the street as she served customers, including one who got a little too familiar.

 

This time, he noted, she gave him a look that might have killed him under other circumstances. All Spike could think about as he watched her was that she was his—his Slayer—his to touch, his to shag, his to kill.

 

Her death wasn’t as appealing an idea as it had been, however. Now that he’d felt her, tasted her, he didn’t want to lose that. The thought of turning her occurred to him and was dismissed just as rapidly. If he turned her, she wouldn’t be the same; Spike knew that much.

 

Spike tracked her movements from the diner back toward her apartment, trying to keep her in sight and yet not risk her seeing him. At one point she turned, looking hard into the shadows where Spike was hiding. He was forced to backtrack slightly to avoid being seen, and when he resumed his pursuit, Buffy had disappeared.

 

His eyes narrowed as he considered his options. He could track her; Spike had been hunting prey for too long to be thrown off the trail now. But if he did that, it would mean admitting something that he wasn’t ready for.

 

There was no way he was going to acknowledge the fact that a connection had been formed between the two of them.

 

Sensing movement without registering its import, Spike felt himself slam into the wall behind him, and felt the sharp point of a stake over his heart for the second time in a week.

 

“What do you want?”

 

Buffy’s voice was all Slayer. “Who says I want anything?”

 

“You were following me.”

 

“So?”

 

“I should stake you right now.”

 

“Maybe you should.”

 

She swore creatively enough to cause Spike to raise his eyebrows in admiration. “The hell with this.” She pushed him back against the building hard, causing the back of his head to slam into brick. For a moment, he saw stars. “Get away from me, Spike. And stay away.”

 

“What are you so afraid of?” he demanded of her retreating back. “You’re hiding away here, pretending that you’re some normal girl.”

 

She whirled to face him. “What other choice did I have?”

 

“I don’t know. You tell me. You’re the only Slayer I know of who had friends and family, and now you’ve run away from them.”

 

He heard her swallow hard. “You really want to know? I’ll tell you. When my mom found out that I was the Slayer, and I left to kill Angel, she told me not to come back if I walked out the door. The police think I killed Kendra, and the principal expelled me from school. Angelus killed Giles’ girlfriend before I could work up the nerve to kill _him_ , and my friends probably hate me for everything Angelus did last year.”

 

Spike hated that he was feeling anything other than impatience. She was the sodding Slayer; it was nothing to him that she was hurting. He should be reveling in it, and rubbing salt in her wounds.

 

Instead, he said quietly, “Dru blamed me. She hated me for taking her away from her daddy.”

 

“And I’m supposed to care because?”

 

Her snide tone had him snarling. “Fine. Forget it. Go back to your pity party, Slayer. Become another worthless human, shove your head up your arse and forget everything you’ve seen.”

 

One sharp blow had sent her stake spinning away, and with his other hand, he grasped one braid, pulling her in close.

 

Spike was going to end this; he was going to do what he should have done a long time ago.

 

Buffy was apparently not ready to go out, however, because she stomped down hard on his instep. It didn’t do much good, not when he was wearing his heavy boots, but she managed to get an arm between them, catching him under the chin with a hard jab. Spike bit down on his own tongue and tasted blood.

 

He swore viciously, attacking her mouth with his own, forcing her to taste his blood. Her smell, her taste, everything was in his blood; Spike thought it only fair to return the favor.

 

They fought—sex and violence inextricably intertwined. It was lust and need and a loneliness so overwhelming that a familiar enemy was better than no one at all.

 

When Buffy pulled back, panting, Spike could see a smear of blood at the corner of her mouth. “Well? You gonna stake me now?” he challenged.

 

“Shut up, Spike.”

 

They groped in the dark alley, and Spike shoved his hand down the front of her pants. It gave him something of a thrill to see her orgasm, knowing that she’d likely never had a guy get her off in public.

 

Buffy sagged against the wall, and Spike leaned pushed her back, keeping her in place. “I’m going home with you tonight.”

 

Her expression was unreadable. “Okay.”

 

~~~~~

 

She couldn’t bear thinking about how disappointed her friends and family would be in her, taking up with another vampire. Buffy could comfort herself with the idea that she hadn’t fallen in love with him; she knew that if she had to, she could kill Spike without hesitation.

 

_If that’s true, why haven’t you killed him yet?_

 

The small voice was quickly stifled, just as it was any time it suggested that it might be time to go back to Sunnydale, or that she should at least call her mom, or send a postcard, letting her know that she was still alive.

 

Buffy feared doing any of those things, because it would mean risking rejection yet again. She couldn’t face the idea that her mom, Watcher or friends wouldn’t welcome her back.

 

And they certainly wouldn’t welcome her back if they knew what she was doing with Spike—maybe that’s why she was doing this.

 

Buffy sat cross-legged on the bed, watching him as he took a drag and blew smoke out the window. “What is it like?”

 

“You’ve never tried?”

 

She shrugged, not wanting to admit that she hadn’t out loud. Spike took the two steps necessary to cross the room and handed her his lit cigarette. Buffy glanced at it skeptically, then looked at him.

 

His raised eyebrow was a challenge that she couldn’t ignore, and she put her lips where his had been and drew in a deep breath. The coughing fit was expected, as was his subsequent laughter. Buffy gave him a hard shove and took another drag, determined to get it right.

 

She’d screwed up her life so badly, Buffy didn’t think that adding one more bad habit would hurt, not when seemed to have fallen into the practice of having sex with vampires.

 

Spike snatched the cigarette from her hand as she started coughing again. “You don’t need that, Summers.”

 

“Why not? I’m going to die anyway, right? Might as well be sooner as later.”

 

“Who says?” he demanded, his voice rough. “You could live forever.”

 

Buffy stared at him. “As a vampire?” The thought both intrigued and disgusted her. “You want to turn me?”

 

“Hell no.” Spike stubbed out his cigarette on the windowsill and dropped the butt out onto the ground. “What would be the fun in that?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Been there, done that. You wouldn’t be the same person anymore.”

 

“I thought you would want that,” Buffy replied. “I wouldn’t be the Slayer anymore.”

 

“That what you want?”

 

“I don’t know.” The admission was wrung out of her, almost against her will. It had been so long since there had been anyone she could talk to that it was something of a relief to finally speak with someone who knew who she was, and who knew her situation.

 

Spike didn’t reply, staring out the window.

 

“What is this, Spike?”

 

“S’pose you could call us allies. We never did call off our truce.” His expression was sardonic, knowing.

 

“So, you don’t kill me, I don’t kill you?”

 

“That works for me.”

 

“What about all those people out there you’re feeding off of?”

 

“Do you really care about them?” he challenged. “They don’t care about you. They’re the same people stiffing you on your tips and grabbing your arse in that diner.”

 

Buffy stared down at her hands, at her chipped and ragged nails. “I don’t know.”

 

“There’s a lot you don’t know, huh?”

 

“Yeah. I guess so.”

 

“They say that’s the beginning of knowledge, knowing what you don’t know.” After a pause, he asked, “You got anything else to wear, Slayer?”

 

“Why?”

 

“’Cause I want to show you something, but it’s gonna require you to dress up a bit.”

 

Buffy looked at him warily, wondering if she dared go with him, wondering what she was getting herself into. She supposed it didn’t really matter now that she’d slept with Spike. Who was around to care if she went out with Spike?

 

“I think I can find something.”

 

~~~~~

 

Spike had been a bit surprised that Buffy agreed to go out with him. It didn’t seem quite like her, and he had to wonder what the motivating factor was. He showed up wearing what he normally wore, knowing that the focus wouldn’t be on him, but on Buffy.

 

He was of two minds about warning her about what kind of situation they were walking into. Although he’d love to see the expression on her face when they entered the demon bar, he was a little concerned about what her reaction was going to be. Immediately walking in and starting to kill occupants—

 

Might be kind of fun now that he thought about it. Spike had never hesitated to pick a fight before, and he wasn’t about to start now.

 

When Buffy answered his knock, she was wearing a pair of tight black pants and a white t-shirt. Spike raised his eyebrow. “Nice.”

 

“This is as dressy as I can get.”

 

“You’ll do.” He ran an admiring eye over her figure. “Ready to go?”

 

Instead of replying, she exited the apartment, locking the door behind her and falling into step next to him. “What’s this all about, Spike?”

 

“Figured you could use the opportunity to drown your sorrows.”

 

She raised her eyebrows, but didn’t reply, and she was quiet when she climbed into the passenger seat of the Desoto. Spike had cleaned things up a bit, but he’d half-expected her to protest him driving. Instead, she leaned back in the seat and watched the scenery pass by out the window.

 

“So, where exactly are we going?”

 

“A place I know of.” Spike wasn’t quite sure how to break the news that he planned on taking her to a demon bar.

 

Buffy gave him a skeptical look, as though sensing his subterfuge. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

 

“Dunno. Think you might if you kept an open mind.”

 

“I came, didn’t I?” she countered. “I think that shows an open mind.”

 

He didn’t respond, mostly because he wasn’t quite sure why she would be with him in the first place, why she hadn’t staked him when given the chance. Spike didn’t know what that said about how open her mind might be.

 

~~~~~

 

Buffy nearly turned around and walked out after stepping inside the bar. It was clear from the outside that it was something of a dive, and inside, she realized that it was a demon bar.

 

It reminded her of Willy’s. How was it that something like that could suddenly make her so homesick she felt nauseous? How was it that the longing to go back, to pretend as though the last four months hadn’t happened, could be triggered by a demon bar?

 

“You coming or going?”

 

Spike’s impatient question had her taking another step forward; Buffy didn’t want him to think her a coward, and she didn’t want to explain her reluctance. He guided her towards the door with a hand on her back. “Bottle of Jack,” he called to the bartender, a demon with four arms, all kept busy by the demands of patrons.

 

Buffy looked around, wondering if she was the only human, and wishing she’d thought to bring more than one stake.

 

“They won’t bother you,” Spike murmured into her ear. “You’re with me.”

 

“And that makes a difference, because?”

 

He gave her a wicked grin. “Because I still have my reputation, and they don’t know who you are. Let’s keep it that way.”

 

Buffy followed him; there didn’t seem to be another choice, and other than the frat party she’d attended back in Sunnydale, she’d never really drunk alcohol. Although she didn’t _trust_ Spike, Buffy knew that he wouldn’t drug her.

 

He didn’t need to.

 

“So, why are you doing this, Summers?”

 

“I don’t have anything better to do.”

 

“That’s the only reason?”

 

“What about you?” Buffy was keen to turn the tables on him. “Why haven’t you killed me yet?” It was a tacit acknowledgement that he could have, that Buffy would have let him. Hell, she’d already died once.

 

Spike suddenly looked fierce. “He’s not worth it.”

 

“What?”

 

“That sodding wanker isn’t worth one of the tears you’ve shed over him.” Spike’s voice was low and intense, his blue eyes bored into her across the small table. “You’re throwing your life away.”

 

“Because I’m with you?”

 

In a flash, his expression became closed. “Forget it.”

 

“I could say the same to you,” Buffy said, the words surprising her as much as they had him, judging by the expression on his face. “She cheated on you. She didn’t love you, not like you loved her. Why should you waste your time moping around over her, if you think I’m wasting so much time mourning Angel?”

 

For a moment, Buffy was certain that he was going to hit her, that Spike would stand up and walk out, leaving her behind. The moment passed, however, and his scarred eyebrow went up. “Touché.”

 

It hit Buffy then in a way that it hadn’t before—she was going to have to go home. She didn’t know when, but she was going to have to face the music. Maybe some of that showed in her face, because Spike shook his head and poured her a drink. “Not tonight, pet. Don’t think about it tonight.”

 

“Then you don’t either,” she commanded. “Don’t think about her.”

 

“Just about you.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Buffy didn’t know what it meant, but later—much later—when Spike was helping her into his car, she wished it could work. She wished that she wasn’t the Slayer, that she didn’t have a duty, that she could be free to disappear.

 

She knew that it was a false hope.

 

**Part IV: Home**

 

Spike had known what he was getting into when he started hanging around the Slayer; he had wanted to keep his mind off of Drusilla, and bring some of the fire back into Buffy while he was at it. Eventually, he knew, she’d remember what it was to be the Slayer, and then they would either fight it out to the death, or they would go their separate ways.

 

He wasn’t sure what it said about him that he would rather not have to kill her, and he didn’t want to make her kill him.

 

“I have to go back.”

 

It had been three weeks since he had taken her out to the demon bar; they’d had a good time, a lot more fun than he’d expected. Two drinks in, and Buffy had unbent enough to play darts. They’d won a few bets from demons who didn’t think she was much of a threat. It had been enough to pay her rent for a few weeks.

 

And now she wanted to go home, to a place where he would be unwelcome.

 

“When?”

 

“Soon. They aren’t going to care about me leaving the diner.”

 

“I’ll drive you back.”

 

“You don’t have to do that.”

 

“It’ll save you some money.”

 

“I’ve got enough.”

 

“Do you not want my company? Is that what this is?”

 

“It’s not anything, Spike.”

 

“Then it’s because you don’t want me back in your town.”

 

“I can’t risk it. You know that, Spike.”

 

“And if I give you my word that you won’t have a reason to stake me?”

 

She turned away from the window to face him. “Then I’d have to take your word, I guess.”

 

There was a long pause as they looked at one another. “I knew you’d decide to go back.” Spike watched as her eyes dropped to the floor. “You’re the Slayer, pet. I knew you’d get serious about this again.”

 

“I wish I didn’t have to,” she admitted. “I wish I could stay here forever.”

 

Spike thought he heard the unspoken words “with you,” but he couldn’t be sure. “Forever is a long time,” was all he said.

 

“Maybe not forever, but I wouldn’t mind staying.”

 

“Can you be ready to leave tonight?” Spike asked.

 

Buffy shook her head. “Not tonight. Not so soon.”

 

She crossed the room, her lips locking with his. Spike knew that this proved that he was a masochist, having feelings for the Slayer. He wouldn’t go so far as to say that he was in love with her, but the idea of killing her didn’t sit right.

 

He could turn her; the idea crossed his mind again, but it held no appeal. Even the knowledge that he would be her Sire, and she would be dependent upon him couldn’t sway him. Spike still remembered the words his mother—or what had been his mother—had spoken to him.

 

The remembrance still stung.

 

They were both soon naked, her warm skin pressed against him, pale from lack of sunlight. She had no time for sunbathing, and she’d lost what color she might have had after long days either sleeping or in the diner, depending on her shift.

 

Spike still thought that she felt like sunlight—her warmth was the only kind that penetrated, and for the first time, he missed the sun.

 

Her green eyes were tightly closed as he kissed his way down the column of her neck, and he found himself suddenly angry. “Look at me,” he demanded, his voice harsh in the darkness of her apartment. “Look.”

 

Buffy’s eyes opened, and he could see unshed tears in their depths. He knew why she was crying; he didn’t think it had anything to do with him. Or not much. Spike couldn’t fool himself that she was in love with him.

 

He thought—no, he knew—that she did not want to return. For a while, she had been able to forget what it meant to be the Slayer, and she was now taking up that burden again. For a moment—and just for a moment—he wished that he could take it up for her.

 

But Spike wasn’t stupid. This was all they would ever have—the darkness of a Los Angeles night, and the false comfort of a fake name. Here, she was just a girl, and he was just a vampire who had a penchant for false hope, and they had been able to comfort one another for a time.

 

But only for a time.

 

~~~~~

 

Buffy thought it strange that Spike had been the one to convince her that she needed to go back; he had been the one who had reminded her of home.

 

Although the night they had gone to the demon bar, and its odd familiarity had started her in that direction, something Spike had said the week before had convinced her.

 

They had been lounging on her bed in silence, typical for them after they’d had sex. Buffy didn’t know what it was between them—she would hardly call it love. Maybe it was simply that misery loved company, and Spike was the only one around who might understand what she’d gone through.

 

“It won’t go away,” Spike had said suddenly. “You being the Slayer. That’s not something you can hide from forever.”

 

“I know.”

 

If Buffy were honest, it hadn’t been something she was having much success at hiding from at that point. She might have already gone back to Sunnydale if it hadn’t been for Spike. What they had—Buffy might not understand it, but she felt like she needed it.

 

In the end, she could only stall for so long. Buffy could feel the crispness in the air that signaled fall, and she knew that if she had a prayer of slipping back into her old life, it had to be now. Before too much time passed, before she became too comfortable here.

 

Until Spike, Buffy had just been marking time; now she felt as though she was settling in, and she knew that she couldn’t let that happen.

 

She thought that it would have been easier to refuse his offer of a ride to Sunnydale, if only because she could disappear, and they wouldn’t have to say goodbye.

 

Buffy was no good at saying goodbye.

 

Spike hadn’t taken no for an answer, though, and she’d had no choice but to take him up on his offer. That was why she now found herself in the passenger seat of his car, staring at the darkened window and seeing nothing.

 

“How much longer?”

 

“Not long.” Spike paused. “Thought we’d stop for the night soon.”

 

“We can make it before daylight.”

 

“But I can’t make it out of town. I’ll drop you off around sunset tomorrow and be on my way.”

 

Buffy hadn’t made him promise not to return; she half-hoped he would, that he wouldn’t do anything to make her stake him. She hoped that he wouldn’t, for fear that she would have no choice but to kill him.

 

What she felt for him wasn’t love, but there was a connection that went deep, and if severed, it would hurt.

 

Thinking about it now, about not seeing him again, Buffy nodded. “Okay.”

 

She didn’t say anything until after he’d pulled up in front of the motel located on the outskirts of Sunnydale. The place was seedy, the sort that would rent rooms by the hour just as often as it rented them by the night.

 

A few months ago, Buffy would have grimaced and refused to stay; she knew better now. She knew just how low it was possible to sink.

 

Standing there, with Spike just behind her, Buffy took a deep breath, smelling cigarette smoke and other things best left unnamed. “Can I get a smoke?”

 

There was the familiar sound of Spike rummaging in his pockets, the snick of the lighter, and the cigarette appeared in front of her face. “Thought you weren’t going to start.”

 

“This is the last one. I won’t be able to smoke after this.” She turned to face him. “I won’t be—” She couldn’t finish, couldn’t explain. Buffy just knew that the person she had been over the last few months wouldn’t be accepted in Sunnydale; she would have to resume an identity that was unlikely to fit.

 

“You gonna be okay?”

 

Spike’s expression was oddly compassionate, and it prompted her to be honest. “No, but that doesn’t really matter.”

 

“I guess not.”

 

They came together with a desperation softened by sorrow. Maybe it wasn’t love, but Buffy knew that she would miss him.

 

~~~~~

 

“Why are you watching that?”

 

Spike glanced over at her. Buffy had just emerged from the bathroom wearing one of his shirts, her wet hair spread out over the towel laid across her shoulders. “What’s wrong with it?”

 

“ _Howard the Duck_?” she said, as though the title was explanation enough; maybe it was. “It’s a talking duck, Spike. I saw this when I was eight, and I hated it then.”

 

Spike put his hands behind his head, making it clear that he had no intention of changing the channel. “It’s this or infomercials. You were the one who wanted to take a shower.”

 

“I wanted to get cleaned up. The water pressure here is a lot better.”

 

He turned his attention back to the TV, not wanting to acknowledge that the inevitable was almost upon them. “It’s not a bad movie.”

 

“And again I say: _talking duck_.”

 

He glanced over at her, smiling at her passion over a bad movie, and she smiled back. Buffy laid her hand against his bare chest. “We should get some sleep.”

 

“Yeah, suppose we should.” Spike pulled her close as she settled on the bed next to him. “It’s gonna be okay, luv.”

 

“I know. Good night, Spike.”

 

“’Night.”

 

He slept and was unsurprised to find her gone that evening when he woke. The note that lay on the pillow next to his head was short and sweet.

 

“ _Spike—thanks for everything. Buffy._ ”

 

As he dressed, Spike realized that one of his t-shirts—the one Buffy had worn to bed the night before—was gone. With a sigh, he folded the note carefully, and tucked it in the breast pocket of his duster.

 

He couldn’t resist the urge to drive by Buffy’s house on his way out of town; he could see her silhouetted in the window, along with her mother and what looked to be her Watcher and friends. She was already sliding back into her life, and he doubted that he’d be any more than a distant memory in a week or two.

 

Spike only wished that he could forget as easily.

 

~~~~~

 

Buffy slid the window up cautiously, not wanting to wake her mother. Joyce had hugged her so tightly that she was certain she’d felt every ounce of worry her mom had felt while she was gone, and the same had been true for Giles as well.

 

She’d been vague with her explanations, not mentioning Spike at all, even though he was an integral part of her trip back.

 

She hadn’t meant to leave him abruptly, but when she had begun to think about what time she might show up at her house, and what her mom and Giles might find if they thought to check the bus schedule—

 

Well, it seemed wiser to arrive at a time when no one would be able to find a discrepancy in her story. She was getting good at this lying thing.

 

Buffy wondered if Spike had already left town, if he’d already dismissed their time together as a blip. Maybe he was glad to be rid of her. Maybe he had already convinced himself that it was just an aberration and the next time they met, he would kill her.

 

Maybe he felt as bereft as she did right then.

 

Because for those few weeks, Buffy had been able to forget about who she was, what she had done, the sacrifices she had made. She’d simply been a girl making her way in a big city, but she knew the truth now.

 

The Slayer would always have a destiny, and it would always be a lonely one.


End file.
